


The Affair

by leigh_adams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Erotica, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-21
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2018-10-27 13:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10810095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh_adams/pseuds/leigh_adams
Summary: She didn’t want this life. She didn’t want to give her hand and vow to cherish and obey Gregory; he looked like a troll, and had the intelligence of one, too.





	The Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** This was written as part of my 2009 Christmas drabble meme.  Tati requested the backstory of how Blaise and Daphne's affair began (in my series of AUs).  This is a prequel to [A Fool's Game](http://leigh-adams.livejournal.com/54907.html#cutid1).  Takes place in an alternate universe where Voldemort won at the Battle of Hogwarts, and the struggle between Light and Dark went on for years and years.

It was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. When she’d been younger, she’d dreamed of her wedding day. It would be the day when she’d finally be free of her father’s tyranny, his oppressive thumb pinning her down to a life of obedience.

She hadn’t realized it would be the worst day of her life.

The ceremony had been perfect. Regal, even. Her dress had been hand made for her and, had it been worn under different circumstances, she would have loved it. But on her wedding day, [Daphne ](http://i288.photobucket.com/albums/ll186/leigh_adams15/keira_knightly.jpg)wanted nothing more than to rip it off her body and set it on fire.

She didn’t want this life. She didn’t want to give her hand and vow to cherish and obey Gregory; he looked like a troll, and had the intelligence of one, too. But his father and her father had thought it best. Their families would form an alliance through the union, combining estates through their children and establishing another dominant Pureblood line under the Dark Lord’s regime.

Daphne supposed she should be thankful that she was being given- for that was all she was, an offering to her future husband- to Gregory. After Draco, who was already betrothed to [Pansy](http://i288.photobucket.com/albums/ll186/leigh_adams15/09-1.jpg), and Theodore, whose family had a history of mental instability and violence, Gregory was the best choice.

If neither of them had been available, her father would’ve married her off to Walden Macnair, whose previous two wives had both… _disappeared_.

She would’ve killed herself before she’d ever married that dried up old badger.

Her father had walked her down the aisle and drawn back her veil, giving her a cool kiss on the cheek before he placed her hand in Gregory’s and took his place amongst the onlookers. She had half a mind to wonder at the gesture; it was possibly the only display of affection he’d shown for her in his entire life. But when Gregory’s large, clumsy hand had closed around hers and pulled her closer, all other thoughts had swept from her mind. She felt no love for her fiancé, and he felt none for her. To him, she was merely a vessel to produce pureblooded sons with. For her, he was her prison.

Their wedding had been, by societal definitions, perfect. The perfect dress, the perfect ceremony, the crème de la crème of wizarding society had been in attendance; even the Dark Lord had come to bestow his good graces upon the couple. Draco had stood up for Greg, his white-blonde hair slicked back in imitation of his father, his face blank, emotionless. Pansy had been by her side during the entire ordeal as she’d recently gone through the same ordeal Daphne was facing. While Draco would not have been the man Pansy had wanted to spend the rest of her life with- not because he was cruel to her, but because their relationship had always been that of close siblings- she’d been forced into the marriage by conniving parents, much like Daphne was now.

The betrothal, the wedding, the ‘honeymoon,’ it was all hazy. When asked, she gave a soft smile and pretended to be the blushing bride that she wasn’t, but it was simply because her mind had repressed memories of those days, when she went to her marital bed like she was facing her execution.

One memory, though, stood out to her, like a single clear picture in a mangled blur. After the official had proclaimed them man and wife (and she’d had to force back the vile in her throat when she’d heard those words), they’d turned to face their guests. And, for a split second, her gaze had locked on to a pair of brown eyes, brown eyes that would forever be burned into her memory. __

_Blaise_.  
*~*~*~*~*~*

Six months later, at [Astoria](http://i288.photobucket.com/albums/ll186/leigh_adams15/RLC.png) and [Theodore](http://i288.photobucket.com/albums/ll186/leigh_adams15/james-mcavoy.jpg)’s wedding reception, Daphne saw that pair of brown eyes again. They’d been burning holes in her back since she’d walked down the aisle as her cousin’s matron of honor. It’d brought a flush of awareness to her skin, her cheeks tinged pink with the knowledge that her former lover was watching her.

Astoria, Daphne noted, was taking the entire ordeal rather well. Three weeks out of Hogwarts and she was already being shipped off as a bride to one of the Dark Lord’s most loyal servants. It wasn’t the life she wanted, or that her parents had wanted for her, but free will… it had fallen to the wayside. If the Dark Lord commanded it, so it would be.

She’d been dancing with her husband- although ‘dancing’ was a loose term afforded to the pale imitation of grace Gregory had been attempting at- when his Mark had burned, hot in his skin. Immediately, he’d let go of her and Apparated away, as had nearly every man at the reception.

The women had, naturally, gathered into little groups to wait for news, house elves moving to and fro, offering trays of champagne and hor d’ouerves. Death Eater brides of all ages were well used to the sudden disappearance of their spouses; it was as normal as waking up in the morning. There was no need to not indulge in the offerings provided by their host and his new bride.

Daphne had been sitting with Astoria, giving what little comfort she could offer as she held her hand, when she looked up and saw him in the shadows of the grand ballroom. She was half surprised he was still there, though she shouldn’t have been. Blaise, by the grace of whatever planet he’d been born under, had never been considered powerful, influential, or loyal enough to swear fealty to the Dark Lord. He’d escaped the Mark- at least, for the time being- and continued to live his life doing…whatever it was he did.

His eyes burned into hers, and in that split second, Daphne decided to act on impulse.

“Excuse me,” she murmured to Astoria and Pansy, rising gracefully from her seat. Purposefully ignoring him, she swept out of the ballroom and into hallway, her heels clicking on the marble. Blaise knew Nott Manor as well as she did, and she had no doubt he’d find her _wherever_ she chose to go.

She was right. Not five minutes after she’d ducked into a rarely used hallway off Theodore’s private library, he slipped in behind her. He muttered a quick set of wards on the door, both locking the door and ensuring total privacy from _anyone_ who might stumble upon them.

“Blaise, what-“ her words died on her lips when he turned and reached for her, drawing her flush against him as their lips crashed together. After several long, blissful moments, they finally broke apart for air, gasping for breath. Her chest was heaving with exertion, her green eyes wide with surprise and hazy with desire. “Blaise…”

“I couldn’t stay away any longer,” he murmured. His dark hand reached out to tug on a finely-styled curl, tugging it down and watching it spring back into place when he released it. “ _Daphne_ …”

“You shouldn’t be here,” she finally said breathily. Her eyes fluttered shut and she took a step back, _needing_ space to clear her head. “Do you want Gregory to suspect something?”

“He won’t have room enough in his brain to think about you tonight,” Blaise said quietly, reaching out to cup Daphne’s chin in his hand.

She opened her eyes and fixed him with a searching look. “What are you playing at, Blaise?”

“Travers and Lestrange,” he answered her, his voice low and serious. “They found an Order safe house.”

Daphne’s green gaze shot up to meet his. “It’s not…”

He nodded. “Corner was there.”

She took a deep breath to steady herself. Michael Corner, Astoria’s stepbrother, had disappeared after the Battle of Hogwarts along with most of his classmates. The Order had been rendered all but defunct and run underground. They still proved troublesome to the Dark Lord, but for the most part, they were nothing but bugs to be squashed.

At least, that was her husband’s opinion.

“What- what are they going to do?” she asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“They’re bringing them here,” he replied after a long pause. “Corner, the Patil twins, Goldstein, Boot, Macmillan, Abbot, Bones, and Smith.”

“Merlin, that’s half our class,” Daphne breathed in shock. “Why are they bringing them here?”

“The Dark Lord wants to make an example of them,” Blaise said. “He wants…”

“He wants what?” she prompted.

Blaise scrubbed his hand over his eyes. “He wants Astoria to watch her husband kill her bastard brother.”

Daphne squeezed her eyes shut and dropped her head into her hands. “My god.” If this wedding hadn’t already killed whatever fire Astoria had left, being forced to watch her brother be tortured and then killed certainly would. It made Daphne sick to her stomach; she hadn’t particularly cared for Michael, but he’d grown up with them. He was her cousin, even if they didn’t share blood. “How did you know?”

“Protean Charm. Don’t ask anything else,” he replied. The siren call of her body was too much for him to resist any longer, and he stepped forward to draw her into his arms. He ducked his head to kiss her shoulder, inhaling her familiar scent. “They’ll be back within an hour.”

She lifted her head to press her forehead against his, her dainty hands grasping at the smooth lapels of his dress robes. None of the old Purebloods were innocent; they were born sullied. Not through their actions, though those eventually cemented their tainted halos, but through their money. Money, which was taken from blood and extortion and cruel, unspeakable acts, made them who they were.

Innocence was nonexistent in their social set.

A few minutes passed before she leaned in to press her lips against his, her hands sliding inside his robe and making quick work of the button down shirt beneath. “Daphne, what are-“ his question was silenced by one slender finger. She pulled back to look at him, green eyes nearly empty of that _spark_ Blaise adored so much. That fire that made her the woman she was. Gregory had nearly stripped it from her, and that made him want to rip the other man’s throat out.

“Make me feel,” she whispered pleadingly. “ _Please_ , Blaise. I need this. I need _you_.”

His eyes darkened, gaze dropped for a split-second to her parted red lips, then back up to her eyes before he leaned in to slant his lips against hers. His hands fisted in the slinky material of her dress, tugging it upwards. He growled against her lips when his fingers slid over the smooth skin of her thighs, tightening in the white flesh and jerking one leg up over his hip.

Gasping, Daphne slid her hands over his shoulders and around to his back, her fingernails digging into the familiar territory. When his lips broke from hers and trailed down over her throat, she let out a low moan, grinding her hips against him in an attempt to make him _hurry_. She’d been without him for nearly a year; she wanted his body moving in her, making her feel alive again.

Blaise’s hand slid between her thighs, seeking fingers moving the silk of her knickers out of the way and plunging into her. Her throaty whimpers and high-pitched cries called to his blood, and he gave her another finger as he moved them in and out of her.

“You,” she whispered, gasping when he pressed his thumb to the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden within her folds, “I want you inside me. _Now_ , Blaise.”

He needed no further encouragement than her breathy plea. Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand from her folds and hurriedly undid the button and fly on his trousers. Wasting no time, he lined up his hips and thrust up into her. 

Daphne moaned loudly, clawing at his shoulders. Merlin, she’d forgotten how _good_ it felt to have him between her thighs. Her inner muscles clenched and fluttered around him as she worked her hips against his.

One hand grasped her hip tightly, holding her in place as he thrust in and out of her. The other moved to cup her chin, drawing her lips down to his for a sweet, slow kiss that seemed out of place in the midst of their furious coupling. He’d had other women since her father had announced her betrothal; in fact, he’d tried to lose himself in woman. None had captivated him the way she did, though. Even though her new last name said she belonged to Gregory, she’d _never_ be Goyle’s.

She was _his_.

“Blaise,” she gasped, throwing her head back as her body began to tighten, signaling her impending climax, “ _oh!_ ” The last fell from her lips as a scream as her orgasm crashed over her, making her sob his name and cling to him as she rode out her pleasure.

With her climax, Blaise let himself go, spilling into her beautiful body with a harsh groan. His hips continued to move languidly against hers until he stilled, completely spent. His head dropped to her shoulder, lips pressed against the slightly sweaty skin there.

Merlin, she’d forgotten how good it was to have someone else induce her orgasm. Gregory _never_ made her come, so she’d always faked it with him. That way it would be over as soon as possible. But Blaise… she’d never had to worry about whether or not she’d find pleasure with him. He’d _always_ taken care of her.

Once he’d finally regained control of his breathing, he lifted his head to look her in the eye. “I can’t give you up, Daphne,” he said, his voice raw with emotion, “I _won’t_. Goyle can go straight to hell for all I care. I want _you_.”

She shook her head and cupped his cheek. “We can’t,” she whispered. “How do you think I would feel if something happened to you because of me? I have _nothing_ left to me anymore, no happiness, no free will. This is my life now.”

He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. “You have me,” he murmured, intense brown eyes catching hers. “You’ll always have me.”

Daphne’s breath caught in her throat at those simple words. So little, yet in this hopeless world, they meant _everything_. “How,” she trailed off, “how can we…?”

“We’ll find a way.”

Holding his gaze for a long while, she finally let her lips twitch in the barest hint of a smile, and nodded. “Alright.”

Smiling a rare, true smile, Blaise helped her down from her perch against the wall. His wand ran over her, muttering Cleansing spells and taming flyaway pieces of hair that’d escaped from her elegant updo. Giving her one last kiss, he pulled her close and murmured, “Go ahead. I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

So, in the deserted alcove at Nott Manor, the affair between Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass-Goyle began.


End file.
